


On Damaged Property and Smuggled Cats

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Gen, Just Add Kittens, kitten shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>So tell us, old soldier, why the decoration over the Captain's window is shattered as if it were shot?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Damaged Property and Smuggled Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umeko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Sobre propiedad dañada y gatos contrabandeados](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150665) by [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas)



> Happy Birthday! Oh... It isn't your birthday? Well I'm sure you celebrate your birthday in any of the other 364 days of this year.
> 
> Thank you for the nice plot bunny, dear!

To explain why that modillion is in such bad shape, I need to explain you about Athos and his cat. You have my word, it is a story worth telling, but, I beseech you, fill my cup…

It was the cat of the Velvet Antler cabaret, even though the landlord didn't like it; perhaps for that very reason it always ended up hidden between Athos’ boots.

It was a strange friendship, if you could call it so. Usually friendships visit each other and interact around a common space; Athos and the cat made of any tavern their common space and only shared their mutual disdain for each other's presence. There were many nights where they shared the table without addressing a glance between them before that ill-starred day, but I hasten to the facts when I should be explaining you why this particular cat was so important.

It was a tomcat, striped if I remember correctly, whose eyes looked at you as if the beast wanted to find the secrets of your soul. Above all, he was as surly as Athos. Anyone who denies the true nature of Athos only knows of him from hearsay or believes in the legend, not the man. In any case, I assure you that this grumpy couple was well sorted out.

Soon that cat followed Athos into any tavern, but only approached him once our comrade was alone, dedicated to polish bottle after bottle. If the tavern keepers had any qualms, their opinions were never spoken.

There were nights where the only interaction between them was reduced to occasional meow of protest against a hand that rose to save the shirt trims from sharp and naughty claws; other nights, a shaking hand swung a string with studs as an invitation which often went disregarded in favor of a good bath. But believe me when I assure you that it was not always the case. There were summer nights when Athos’ head rested on his arms and a small paw stroked his head as if imparting an arcane blessing of a forgotten primitive religion and there were winter nights when Athos caressed the back of purring pussycat on his chest.

Those nights, anyone could be certain that Athos was blind drunk.

Curiously, if ever you asked Athos about his love for cats, he was always ready to declare the horse as his only favorite animal  and  that he was unable to believe the cats as worthy of admiration. On my honor it was hard to believe him ―to him, who was honesty personified — seeing the beast huddled inside his jerkin, where for some reason, it loved purr its contentment when wine gained on Athos and he gave exactly the same care to its company or its absence.

Now, I must clarify that the cat was the best drinking buddy that our comrade could have found, more than a thief encountered a clawed surprise in their attempts to alleviate Athos from the weight of his pocket, and Porthos can vouch for all the times he attended a tavern to help Athos reach Rue Férou only to find the unfortunate cat sitting between the chair and the trencher, he will tell of all the occasions he received a scolding in the form of wheezing meow before the animal jumped to the ground and got lost among the tables with complete ease.

In sum, this feline, fattened on forgotten food and neglected charity, had carved itself a space in Athos’ heart, no matter how grudgingly. Perhaps that was why the blessed cat ended up taking the entire garrison by surprise.

I have no idea who aroused Athos that morning, but you can bet he was found asleep in the corner of a nearby tavern. By the time he reached the waiting room of M. de Treville he was walking doubled over, hands at his sides, as if suffering of pain. Porthos and Aramis as usual worried about him and tried to help him. You all have a good idea of Athos by now, he tried to play it down, my opinion is Athos was right, he just needed a minute to calm the beast imprisoned inside his garment.

If only his words had not fallen on deaf ears...

Given the increased efforts of his friends, the wretched cat struggled until it found a way out through the sides of the doublet and scared the living lights out of Aramis, who was the closest. Aramis took a huge leap, but things went from bad to worse when Porthos let out a coarse word with his inconspicuous voice that was out of place anywhere, even more on the Captain’s threshold.

The next few minutes were chaotic, with the cat meowing like a hell fiend while running between the legs of half of the regiment and climbed down the stairs amid a confusion of shocked young men. I must say that the most impressive thing Athos, who loudly professed his indifference for the felines, following the same road and almost at the same speed. Never understood why he did so, but this would not be such a memorable story if he didn’t.

I was on the steps of the courtyard so I witnessed the whole event. When the cat with bristling back ran down the stairs in a flash, one of the new recruits, who was practicing target shooting, aimed his loaded musket to it believing in his youthful arrogance that it would be much more fun to shoot a moving target. You will be pleased to know that he was cast out of regiment that very morning, not for choosing the cat as his mark, but for aiming his musket to his own comrades, I must clarify.

Athos, as you well know, has outbursts of heroism, the more overdone the better. That morning, Athos showed his coolness by interposing his body between the musket and the frightened feline and it was a great blessing that he wouldn't entertain his gaze upon the recruit because the lad would have been paralyzed and that would have been Athos' end.

At the last second, when the burning wick touched the cup, the recruit managed to lift the barrel. The action was so hasty and unplanned, the shot grazed the brim of Athos’ hat and threw it down before it shattered the ornate modillion over the Captain's window just at the time that window opened wide. That damned cat was nowhere to be seen; the Captain, of course, was heard around the garrison and the neighboring houses, I can assure you.

I do believe you won’t need my description of the dressing down of Biblical proportions M. de Treville laid on Athos. I judge that if his screams echoed these walls with such volume, it was due to Athos’ senseless act of bravery and not to the smuggled cat or the damage to his building. I agree: a musketeer’s worth is more than an alley cat.

Before finishing my story, let me tell you the epilogue.

That afternoon, I was guarding the front door when Athos came out brushing his hat with the sleeve of his doublet, all baleful glare and hunched shoulders, but with enough politeness to greet me with a small nod. Only God knows what happened under his heavy mane of black hair.

I saw him take his first steps before a timid meow bounced off the walls of the street, that sound stopped him in his tracks and made him look around. I swear it was the first and only time I saw him surprised by something, that man was unflappable.

When he found the source of the sound he did not smile, he merely a little lifted his hat as if greeting an equal.

"Glad to know you escaped with your skin intact," Athos said, as he extended his hand.

I give you my word; the cat jumped off the ledge and perched up on Athos’ shoulder, just below the hat, as if God had assigned that place just for him. But that was the least surprising issue of the encounter because Athos asked immediately: "How does a roasted chicken sound?"

The happy meow the beast emitted still makes me smile, ‘zounds!


End file.
